


Perception

by narsus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The limited lens of commonly accepted perception serves Sherlock’s purpose well enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss & Steven Moffat, and obviously in the genesis of it all, to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

She retouches her nails on Sunday morning, even though she’s taken forty-eight hours over them already. The details are always so very important on a day like this. A day of truce, when she’ll have lunch with Mycroft peaceably at his club. She wonders briefly if her mother will be there. It’s possible but not likely. Her mother, on a Sunday, is more likely to be out in the country somewhere, shooting at small clay items and the occasional woodpigeon that gets in her way. Sometimes she’s not quite sure she has the gender right about that though. Mother has, in the past, been known to pass herself off as a man, usually her own, non-existent, younger brother. Of course that’s only been for the sake of disguise and, if her mother is anything, then the proper term would probably be the modern demarcation of gender-fluid anyway. Mycroft takes after their father in that respect. Mycroft is almost aggressively masculine, in that strange way that suggests that he’s simply arrived in the wrong era. He wouldn’t be out of place in a much earlier age after all.

Sherlock on the other hand is distinctly female. She may not have the correct physical equipment to be deemed female by society but that hardly matters. She has no interest in altering her physical shape via surgery, though she knows, that for some, that is of paramount importance. In her case she is well aware of the advantages of presenting as male in her line of work. She cares about being correctly gendered, about the pronouns that those closest to her use, but, beyond that, she knows that she probably doesn’t tend towards stereotypes nearly enough to be deemed acceptable by the public. She did not grow up playing with dolls or having tea parties with her toys. She didn’t steal her mother’s makeup or attempt to wear her shoes. Mycroft, oddly enough, can walk easily over cobbles in the tallest stiletto heels, but then Mycroft would argue that it’s a matter of centres of gravity and balance rather than anything else.

She plays with chemicals and guns, and the legal system when permitted. Her hair is kept only slightly long. She curls her, mockingly short, eyelashes, uses lip balm and, when she remembers, uses hand cream. Other than a few occasions like today she hardly fits the stereotype that’s so necessary to pass. People like comfortable assurances with this sort of thing. They like the distinction of girls who play with dolls and boys who play with suitably masculine dolls instead. Women are not required, by law, to wear makeup or skirts but the unspoken laws of socio-economics suggest, very strongly, that they ought to. There are layers upon layers of assumption and presumption and in the case of transitioning there’s little difference. She doesn’t feel the desperate need to transition anyway and for that is grateful. There is nothing inside her, clawing up from her gut, threatening to destroy her, that screams that she must change this inappropriate body or die trying. She’s well aware that she’s one of the lucky ones.

Instead, she wears her male form as a disguise. It is a magnificent blind after all. Hardly anybody ever sees through it. Even the supposed genius Moriarty had thought her a homosexual man rather than a heterosexual woman. Of course she doesn’t blame him: she cultivates that image deliberately, and it is, quite often, very difficult to think outside one’s own box. Moriarty, for all his range, his ideas, his brilliance, had been confined by the limit of the gender binary. It’s the usual way of things so she doesn’t hold it against him. It’s a sharp contrast to John and his complete inability to recognise said binary on anything other than a mechanical level. It’s one of the things that she values John for and at the same time is reasonably frustrated by. John honestly doesn’t see all that much of a difference and as such, accepts her, as an individual existence, all trappings aside. Unfortunately, that does also mean that he rarely recognises her as a woman any more than he would have recognised her as a man in other circumstances.

Gregory understands and sees her as something of a younger sister. He is in turns amazed by her and, equally, wildly overprotective. She has sat on the grass by Saint Anne’s with him, wearing a broad brimmed summer hat and a surprisingly floral dress, while he’d eyed anyone whose gaze lingered, for a little too long, on her legs, with open hostility. He has rolled his eyes and pleaded with her to wear a longer skirt, has put an arm around her protectively as they’ve walked down the road, and, once, almost started a fight because of her. The last could have turned rather nasty if she hasn’t stepped in and asked slyly, if his would-be advisories really thought it in their best interests to start a fight with her brother, with the careful mention of his being a police officer. When she thinks about it, Gregory’s behaviour towards her isn’t terribly different to his behaviour in regards to Mycroft. Except in Mycroft’s case he’s even more aggressive. She supposes that that makes sense, since men are trained to be more forward, and while a flirtatious younger sister might talk her way out of a situation, a shyer, gay, younger brother might find his own position that little bit more precarious.

Mycroft is a contrast in that sense. He can be shockingly forward when it comes to accomplishing his goals but at the same time incredibly timid when said goals concern his personal happiness. In that respect, she is glad that he has a steady boyfriend now. Someone who cares and understand, and who has the sort of combat training that probably isn’t entirely, officially, legal. Of course she’s not entirely sure how Mycroft’s department must view the matter because she’s fairly certain that there are rules about dating subordinates. That said, if "The Rules", which she has actually read several times, are anything to go by, then it’s not surprising that despite the ranking difference Mycroft has been pursued. There are worse men out there that her brother could be dating after all, and being able to talk to her brother’s boyfriend about trans issues is an added bonus. Anthea, like Sherlock, has no great desire to transition and is adept at flaunting his female shape to his best advantage. Sherlock hopes that eventually he will propose to Mycroft, because Mycroft of all people deserves a kind and attentive boyfriend, who’s fully capable of fracturing someone’s skull if Mycroft requires it.

The process of being female, even without the biological complications, hasn’t been easy and Sherlock can readily admit that she has overcompensated to hide herself at times. Sally Donovan for instance, has been on the receiving end of Sherlock’s bile more often than not, simply because her gaze betrays her. She looks at Sherlock and sees something more than the trappings, possibly even suspects what Sherlock is trying so desperately to hide. With a whispered word someone as insignificant as Sally Donovan could bring Sherlock’s shield of misconception crashing down. But, there are better ways of dealing with that than outright hostility, and Sherlock has recently begun to change track. She has been kinder to Sergeant Donovan of late, a little softer in her presence, a little more wide-eyed in the face of hostility. It seems to be working, slowly, to diffuse the situation which is better than risking a confrontation. Sherlock can be diplomatic when it serves her purpose after all.

Going over all these details in her mind is suitable preparation for the day she is to spend with her brother. The last situation after all is the one upon which she will consult with him over her next move. He knows, far better than her, the hypocrisy of social standards and is better placed to advise on the best course of action. In return, she will scandalise his club by visiting in a very short dress and nails painted a shocking shade of fuchsia. Of course, if he has his wits about him, he will compliment both. She has spent an entire week looking for just the right dress that will be suitably elegant but also just that little bit shocking, and is quite tired of trawling up and down Bond Street for the foreseeable future. Similarly, she has actually been trying to put her nail varnish on since Wednesday, but mishap upon mishap had actually plagued her till Friday, so he’d best appreciate the effort. She will look the part of course, always elegant and gracious, and Mycroft is certain to compliment her. Better Mycroft than John, after all, since John has an annoying tendency to tell her that she looks ‘cute’ whatever she’s wearing.

**Author's Note:**

> St Anne’s Church in Soho has a large green space in front of it, and is located, conveniently, just by the Duke of Wellington pub.  
>  _The Rules_ is a famous, and controversial, self-help book first published in 1995.


End file.
